Jeanyx spent the rest of the walk back from the copper cave distracted, quietly humming to Loki as the little boy babbled against his shoulder, tiny fingers tangled in his father's hair. Regulus walked beside them with a mind full of silent calculations, already planning how quickly copper could be mined, smelted, and refined. Brandon trailed behind with a slow smile, pleased simply to see Loki giggling and Jeanyx looking excited rather than weighed down by the world.
But later that evening, when the torches burned low and the Mourning Keep settled into its quiet hum of nighttime warmth, two sets of eyes watched Jeanyx with growing dread.
Sirius and Regulus had overheard it.
Not all of it — only enough to break something fragile inside them.
"…one step closer to going home."
"…returning in the coming years."
"…the kids aren't ready yet to face their families."
Those words clung to them like frost.
Sirius paced outside Jeanyx's workshop door in tight, restless circles. He kept running a hand through his black hair, muttering to himself, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every few steps he leaned his shoulder against the wall, then pushed off again like he couldn't bear to be still.
Regulus sat on the floor by the door, knees pulled to his chest, chin tucked down, wand in his hand but forgotten. His eyes were red, not from tears, but from how long he'd been staring at nothing. He kept squeezing the wand handle, like grounding himself on something real.
Neither wanted to knock.
Neither wanted to hear confirmation.
Inside, Jeanyx was etching the final symbols on a copper plate for a focusing ring. He was humming—soft, content, proud. Every now and then he paused to adjust Loki, who was curled up asleep in his lap, one tiny hand gripping Jeanyx's robe.
It made Sirius' stomach twist.
Regulus was the first to speak, voice barely above a whisper.
"Sirius… do you think he'll… r-return us? Like—like cargo?"
Sirius froze mid-step. His eyes were glassy for a moment, then he shook his head fast, almost violently.
"No. He wouldn't."
Then quieter.
"…I hope he wouldn't."
Regulus swallowed hard. "If we go back… you know what Father will do."
Sirius did know.
Orion Blackwood would be furious.
Not relieved.
Not grateful.
Furious.
Sirius whispered, "He'll beat us for running. He'll punish James for 'corrupting' us. Bellatrix and Narcissa'll be locked in their rooms for moons. Remus… gods, Remus would be tossed back to his family like a stray dog."
"And me," Regulus added quietly. "He'll take everything I learned here. He'll break my wand. He'll— he'll make me forget this place. Forget Nyx. Forget magic."
Sirius' breath hitched.
"It would all disappear, wouldn't it?"
Regulus nodded, looking sick. "All of it. All we built. All we learned. Our home. Our family."
Sirius stopped pacing.
"We have to ask him," he whispered. "We can't just pretend we didn't hear it."
Regulus looked at the door like it was a monster waiting to swallow him. "And if he says we're leaving?"
Sirius didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
After a long moment, Sirius reached down, grabbed Regulus' wrist, and pulled him up.
"No more waiting."
He slid the door open.
The rune-lit workshop glowed in warm red and violet. Copper plates, smelting tools, parchment covered in diagrams, and thin trails of rising steam filled the room. Jeanyx sat cross-legged at his worktable, Loki asleep against his chest, Nyx's massive head resting through the open balcony arch like a cat demanding attention.
Jeanyx looked up, blinking.
"Oh. What's up, boys?"
Both children froze.
Regulus' lip trembled. Sirius' hands shook.
Jeanyx frowned.
"…What happened?"
Sirius took a breath. His voice cracked.
"Are you going to send us back?"
The workshop fell silent.
Nyx lifted her head sharply.
Jeanyx's entire body stilled.
Loki stirred at the tension.
"What?" Jeanyx asked softly.
Regulus stepped forward, eyes glossy with a fear far too old for a twelve-year-old. "We heard you… in the cave. You said you're going home soon. We know you've been preparing. And— and we know you don't belong here forever. But… but do we?"
He swallowed hard.
"Do we get left behind? Or worse… sent back?"
Sirius' voice shook when he added, "To them."
Jeanyx blinked slowly, like he was trying to piece together why the question hurt so much.
He placed a gentle hand over Loki's back, keeping the child asleep, then slowly rose to his feet.
He crossed the room in three steps, kneeled before them, and put a hand on each of their shoulders.
"You think I'd ever abandon you?"
Neither boy answered.
Because both feared the truth.
Jeanyx pulled them into a rough, sudden embrace, arms wrapping around both at once.
"You're mine," he said, voice low, fierce, trembling at the edges. "All of you. Every one of you I pulled from that river. Every child in this Keep. You're mine."
Sirius let out a shaky breath that was half-sob.
Regulus clutched Jeanyx's sleeve like he was drowning.
Jeanyx continued, softer now.
"When the time comes for us to leave this island… you're coming with me. All of you. Not a single one goes back to chains, cages, or expectations they never chose."
Sirius' shoulders shook.
Regulus finally cried, silent tears slipping down his cheeks onto Jeanyx's robe.
Jeanyx pulled back just enough to look them in the eyes.
"You two trusted me when I was a stranger. You followed me when you had nothing. You bled for this place. You fought for it. Your siblings grew up calling you their heroes."
He exhaled like he'd been holding the truth in for years.
"You're not going anywhere without me."
The boys collapsed into him again.
Nyx's low rumbling growl vibrated the walls — a protective hum, like a dragon's version of a lullaby.
And upstairs, for the first time in a long while, Wintertown felt whole.
Jeanyx called the rest of the children into the study just before dusk, when the Mourning Keep glowed in warm amber light and Nyx had settled into her customary place coiled around the balcony. The air felt unusually charged, as if the walls themselves knew something important was about to take root.
Bellatrix came in first, wiping soot from her cheek and carrying one of her half-finished daggers. Narcissa trailed behind her with a tray of honey tea, already frowning because she could sense the tension. James arrived next smelling like the stables, Remus tucked beside him with a bundle of herbs, and Thor toddling behind them with a wooden shovel. Little Arya climbed straight into her father's lap, while Alysanne quietly sat on the rug with her tiny hands folded like a doll carved from moonlight.
But Loki came straight to his siblings and tugged their sleeves, pointing to Jeanyx and whispering something only toddlers could make mysterious and frightening at the same time. The room fell still.
Jeanyx didn't stand behind a desk or loom like some powerful sorcerer. He sat on the floor with Arya in his lap and patted the space in front of him, a gesture so simple and familiar that all of them sat without question — even Bellatrix, though she grumbled.
"I need to tell you something," Jeanyx began, voice low and steady, "and I need you to listen."
Sirius and Regulus exchanged a glance, knowing what was coming but still gripping each other's sleeves.
"I found copper today," Jeanyx continued softly. "The last thing I needed to finish something important. Something connected to who I am… and where I come from. It means that soon — not tomorrow, not next moon, but soon — I will be able to return home."
No one made a sound.
Even Nyx lifted her head and stared into the room with molten eyes, the flicker of fire inside her throat reflecting on the stone walls.
"And I want all of you to understand," Jeanyx said, letting his hand rest on Arya's tiny back, "that if I go… you come with me. I'm not leaving any of you behind. Not ever."
Relief washed over the room so suddenly it felt like a physical wave.
Narcissa let out a breath she'd been holding for hours.
James sagged forward in pure exhaustion.
Remus wiped his eyes roughly, pretending it was dust.
But it was Sirius who moved first.
He stood up.
He stepped forward.
And he knelt.
It was not a casual kneel or a childish one. It was deliberate, slow, ceremonial — something old, something instinctive, something that even he didn't understand fully. His hands trembled as he placed them on the floor before Jeanyx, head bowed.
Regulus blinked in shock… then followed, kneeling right beside his brother.
Bellatrix frowned, then scowled, then finally threw her dagger aside and knelt with a huff. Narcissa hesitated a moment, then knelt with the quiet grace of someone born to dignity. James knelt next. Remus knelt last. All of them bowed their heads, waiting.
Sirius lifted his chin, voice shaking but strong.
"We don't want to be Blackwoods anymore."
Jeanyx stiffened.
Regulus continued, "That name hurts more than it helps. It ties us to people who would have caged us, used us, or punished us for being ourselves. It is not ours anymore."
Bellatrix muttered, "And it's ugly."
Narcissa elbowed her sharply, but she didn't disagree.
Sirius took a trembling breath.
"Give us a new name. A name we choose. A name you choose."
The room became impossibly quiet.
Even Nyx went still.
Jeanyx stared at the children — these strange, brilliant, stubborn, wounded, loyal creatures who had chosen him long before he realized he needed them.
And then he sighed.
"You want a new house?" he asked softly.
Sirius nodded without hesitation.
Bellatrix also nodded, eyes flicking with a spark of something fierce.
Regulus whispered, "Please."
Jeanyx rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking, thinking, thinking.
"Fine," he said at last. "From now on… all of you are House Black."
Every child blinked.
Every child stared.
Every child's face contorted into a deadpan expression identical to Nyx's disappointed lizard-glare.
Bellatrix snapped, "That's literally our old name."
Narcissa added, "That's not new at all."
Regulus whispered, "That's… that's just a color."
James said nothing but gave a flat, unimpressed stare.
Even Thor, who didn't understand a thing, crossed his little arms like he was offended on principle.
Jeanyx threw up both hands in exasperation.
"Listen," he said defensively, "completely throwing away your Blackwood roots would insult the people who raised you. And it would be wrong. Names shape legacy. Legacy shapes power. And your families — whether you love them or hate them — gave you something real. Something that made you strong enough to survive."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if asking the gods why children were so difficult.
"So you're House Black," he continued. "New meaning. New legacy. Old roots. Done."
Bellatrix opened her mouth to argue — then stopped, realizing it actually made sense in a Jeanyx kind of way.
Regulus whispered, "I… I like it."
Sirius smirked. "As long as it's ours."
Jeanyx clapped once. "Good. Settled."
Then his gaze moved to James.
"And you? What last name do you want?"
James immediately straightened with suspiciously eager speed.
"Potter," he said proudly.
Every head turned toward him.
Every eyebrow went up.
Even Nyx made a chuffing sound that was absolutely judgment.
Jeanyx blinked slowly. "Potter."
James nodded harder. "Potter."
Bellatrix snorted. "Isn't that Lily's favorite name?"
Narcissa whispered, "She literally said last week that 'Potter' was romantic."
Remus muttered, "James, you simp."
James flushed red and waved his arms. "It's a good name!"
Jeanyx gave him a long, considering stare.
"Fine," he said at last. "James Potter it is."
James practically glowed.
Remus patted his back with moderate disgust.
Nyx snorted again.
And Jeanyx looked at his children — all of them — with a strange warmth flickering behind his eyes, a warmth that covered something older, something darker, something fiercely protective.
"Now that we're done with names," he said, gesturing for all of them to stand, "let's eat. I'm starving."
And for the first time in years, every child walked to dinner feeling like something in their ribs had settled, like the world had shifted a little more in their favor, like home was not a place but a person — and they had chosen him.
Night settled over Mourning Keep like a heavy velvet cloak, the wind singing its strange mournful song through the mountain crevices. The great stone hall was lit by hundreds of candles—warm, gentle light flickering over carved pillars, weapons racks, and banners showing the newly-forged sigils of houses that did not yet exist in Westerosi history.
Jeanyx stood in the center of the hall, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of the Blasphemous Blade, its veins dim and dormant, almost respectful for once. Behind him, Nyx lay coiled like a living mountain of black-and-violet scales, watching the room with one half-lidded eye. The keep felt different tonight—softer, warmer, almost sacred.
The children filed in with hesitant steps, the Frost family behind them, Lyra and Mya watching with swollen pride despite exhaustion. Sirius walked first, trying to look composed, but his fingers kept twitching as if resisting the urge to fidget. Regulus followed, smooth and elegant even as a child, his eyes curious and sharp. Bellatrix strode with confidence, already imagining herself conquering whoever got in her way. Narcissa was quieter, soft-footed and observant. James Potter looked both embarrassed and excited, and Remus Lupin came last, gentle and shy, holding close the raven-feather cloak Jeanyx had given him.
Jeanyx waited until they were all standing in a half-circle before him.
"Tonight," he said softly, "marks the moment you take control of your futures… by choosing who you are."
Sirius swallowed hard, and Jeanyx caught the flicker of pride in the way he held his chin. One by one, the children stepped forward.
"Sirius Black," Jeanyx said first, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "A hunter, a wind-wielder, and the most stubborn reckless little wolf I've ever met."
Sirius grinned like he'd just been crowned king of the world.
"Regulus Black," Jeanyx continued, turning to the younger brother. "Shadow-born. A mind sharper than Valyrian steel. Already wiser than most grown men I've met."
Regulus bowed his head, pride shining behind those careful eyes.
"Bellatrix Black," Jeanyx announced next. "Chaos incarnate. A storm wrapped in skin. The world will tremble before your power—if you learn to control it."
Bellatrix practically vibrated, her eyes glowing with excitement.
"Narcissa Black," Jeanyx said more gently, touching her shoulder with unexpected tenderness. "A healer's heart. Frost and kindness woven into your veins. Your strength will save more lives than any sword."
Narcissa's lips trembled—not out of fear, but out of being seen.
Then Jeanyx stepped toward James.
"James Potter. Beastspeaker. Kinetic soul. More loyalty in you than most kings ever earn."
James looked down, ears red, mumbling, "Lily's gonna freak out…"
Lastly, Jeanyx knelt in front of Remus.
"Remus Lupin. Ember and growth. Fire and gentleness. A rare balance. You will shape life itself in ways you don't yet understand."
Remus blinked fast, trying not to cry.
Then Jeanyx reached behind him and revealed six folded garments.
"Your new cloaks."
He handed them out one by one—each colored and runed to match their affinities:
Sirius' was deep sky-blue with silver thread swirling like wind currents.
Regulus' was midnight black with faint charcoal-grey sigils that shifted like shadows.
Bellatrix's cloak crackled faintly with static, storm-blue shot through with gold.
Narcissa's was frost-white, soft as down, edges embroidered in pale blue.
James' cloak was brown and moss-green, smelling faintly of wild mint and forest earth.
Remus' cloak was warm amber with red accents like glowing embers.
Bellatrix immediately swung hers dramatically over her shoulders and declared, "I look AMAZING," before nearly falling over when a loose end caught her foot.
The next table was lined with blades.
Jeanyx gestured at them.
"These weapons are crafted from Damascus steel—the closest I can get to Valyrian steel without the secret recipe. They are not toys. They will remain with you for life."
The children moved to the table slowly, reverently.
Sirius picked the long, lean blade that curved like a fang.
Regulus chose a thin, elegant rapier.
Bellatrix went straight for a hand-and-a-half sword that shimmered dark blue.
Narcissa picked the lightest dagger, trembling but steady.
James took a short sword meant for close combat—the kind that required instinct more than finesse.
Remus selected a small curved blade, almost sickle-like, that fit perfectly in his hands.
Jeanyx watched their choices with pride.
"Your first saber forms," he said, drawing their attention. "Tonight, you begin."
He moved between them, one by one.
To Sirius: "Form IV, Ataru. You'll fly before you walk, and probably break your nose twice."
To Regulus: "Form II, Makashi. Precision. Grace. One day, you'll terrify people by standing still."
To Bellatrix: "Form VII, Juyo. The path of controlled chaos. Try not to kill your brothers."
To Narcissa: "No saber form yet. Healing first. Violence second."
To James: "Form V, Shien. Counter their strength. Break their momentum."
To Remus: "Form VI, Niman. Balance above all."
Then Nyx finally stirred.
She rose slowly, towering above them—a titan draped in shimmering black scales streaked with violet fire. The children stiffened, wide-eyed, but Nyx lowered her head until her snout rested on the floor.
One by one, she allowed them to touch her scales.
Sirius ran his hand down her snout, whispering "You're beautiful."
Regulus placed his palm reverently against her cheek.
Bellatrix tried to poke her until Nyx playfully snapped at her cloak.
Narcissa trembled but Nyx nudged her gently.
James squealed when Nyx's warm breath knocked him over.
Remus simply hugged her chin, eyes closed.
It was the first time she'd acknowledged them as part of her "flight."
Their familiars reacted too—wolves howling, ravens cawing, the little deer tapping its hoof, the crow landing on Jeanyx's shoulder, the snake eggs in their basket stirring faintly.
It felt like destiny knitting itself together.
Jeanyx watched all of them—his students, his children, his protégés, the future of two worlds—and felt something warm in his chest that he rarely acknowledged.
Then his expression softened, and the candles flickered as if listening.
"There is one last thing," he said quietly. "Something you deserve to know."
They all turned to him.
"In two to three years… we leave this island."
Silence crashed into the hall like a wave.
Sirius looked excited—almost feral with the idea of freedom.
Regulus froze, calculating the implications.
Bellatrix broke into a wild grin.
Narcissa's face paled, her fingers twisting into her cloak.
James swallowed hard, thinking of Lily.
Remus looked torn between hope and heartbreak.
Jeanyx stepped forward, voice steady.
"You will return stronger than you left. Smarter. Deadlier. More prepared than any child in Westeros' history. But the world beyond this island is dangerous. Ugly. Beautiful. Cruel. And full of people who will fear what you are becoming."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"You won't face it alone. You are my family. My students. My legacy. And when the world tries to test you… you will show them why they should have feared the day you were born."
Nyx roared behind him, flame swirling around her throat.
The hall trembled.
The children stood taller.
Every single one of them realized—
their childhood was ending
their destiny was beginning
and the world beyond the sea had no idea what was coming
The hall had barely settled from Nyx's roar when Sirius stepped forward, cloak swaying behind him like a gust of wind caught the hem.
"So… we're really leaving," he said, his voice too steady to hide the tremble underneath.
Jeanyx lifted an eyebrow. "That's what I said, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but…" Sirius gestured vaguely at the keep, the mountains, the hall full of weapons and warmth and safety. "It's home now."
Regulus, usually the composed one, drifted closer to his brother. "And Westeros isn't. Not anymore."
Bellatrix folded her arms, storm-blue cloak crackling faintly around the edges. "Westeros can choke. I'm ready to see what happens when people try to tell us what to do."
"You say that," Narcissa murmured, tucking a strand of pale hair behind her ear, "but half the Seven Kingdoms would panic if they saw Nyx stretch her wings above a city."
Nyx huffed, a plume of warm, violet-tinged smoke rolling from her nostrils.
Jeanyx smirked. "Good. They should panic."
James scratched the back of his head, glancing at the deer watching them from the doorway. "Lily's gonna faint when she sees me again…"
Bellatrix cut him a look. "She's going to scream. Then yell at you. Then forgive you in the same breath. You're hopeless."
"I'm romantic," James protested.
"You're delusional," Regulus corrected mildly.
James opened his mouth to argue further but Remus stepped in, voice quiet as always. "What about the others? The villagers. Our animals. The keep…"
His eyes drifted to the towering ceiling above them. He'd always been the one who noticed the things no one else did.
Jeanyx studied the six of them—each carrying a different mix of fear and hope—and for a moment the hall felt too small to hold everything they were becoming.
"We aren't abandoning anything," he said. "Wintertown will stand. Your bonds will stand. Your familiars will follow. And the keep will still be here when we return."
Sirius frowned. "Return? You make it sound like we're coming back."
"You will." Jeanyx shrugged. "You think I built all of this just to leave it behind forever? My children were born here. You all became yourselves here. This is your first home. Not your last."
Bellatrix's chaotic bravado cracked just a hair at that, but she covered it with a scoff. "Well… I guess that's acceptable."
Narcissa nudged her. "You're emotional."
"I'll set you on fire."
"You can't. I'm frost-aligned."
"Then I'll thaw you."
Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gods save us…"
Jeanyx watched them bicker with a faint smile tugging at his mouth. This—this—was what he'd been building, even if he hadn't admitted it aloud.
Not an army.
Not servants.
A family.
One stitched together by accident, chaos, fate, and the force of his own stubbornness.
Nyx lowered her massive head until one golden-violet eye stared directly at Jeanyx. He understood her well enough by now—the look said: tell them the real reason.
So he exhaled slowly.
Hands sliding into the pockets of his cloak.
Voice dropping lower.
"There's another reason we leave soon," he said.
Every child turned toward him at once.
"My family hasn't forgotten me," he admitted. "And sooner or later, someone in Westeros is going to notice that dragons don't simply vanish forever."
A ripple of unease went through the group.
Sirius tightened his grip on his new blade. "Are they coming to take you back?"
Jeanyx shook his head. "No. They'll come to take Nyx."
Nyx growled, wings shifting irritably.
"And your children?" Narcissa's voice was soft, but her eyes were bright and worried. "Lyra's twins. Mya's twins…"
A muscle ticked in Jeanyx's jaw, just a faint twitch but enough for those closest to him to feel the shift in mood.
"They'll take nothing from me," he said. "Not my partner. Not my students. Not my home. Not my children."
Regulus looked up at him with something like awe. "So we'll fight."
"We'll live," Jeanyx corrected. "And if fighting comes with it… then we fight."
Bellatrix grinned, absolutely delighted. "Finally."
Remus sighed. "Of course you'd be excited."
James let out a shaky breath. "Then we really do need to train harder."
Jeanyx nodded once. "Tomorrow morning, you begin the real lessons. And tomorrow night… you'll each forge the first piece of armor you'll ever wear."
Regulus' eyes lit up. Sirius' hands trembled with excitement. Bellatrix practically vibrated. Narcissa looked afraid, but determined. James swallowed hard, shoulders squaring. Remus nodded quietly, accepting the weight of what was coming.
Nyx lifted her wings halfway, shadows dancing over the candlelit hall.
Jeanyx lifted his chin.
"Welcome home, House Black," he said.
"Welcome home, James Potter."
"Welcome home, Remus Lupin."
"And welcome to the future you've chosen."
The children—six completely different souls bound by fate and stubbornness—stood a little taller.
This wasn't an ending Not even close It was simply the next breath before the next chapter.
The long-span montage is coming—months of growth, bruises, breakthroughs, disasters, mastery, arguments, triumphs, and the slow shaping of six children into something far greater than they ever imagined.
Everything below is written as a flowing cinematic montage, in spread-out paragraphs, and in a natural, novel-like tone, with no segment labels, no bullet points, and no AI stiffness.
Here it begins.
The courtyard changed with the seasons.
In the first weeks, mornings were filled with the sound of clashing wood, scraped palms, and the heavy breaths of children learning how to stand their ground against one another. Sirius tripped over his own feet every other day, and Jeanyx seemed to enjoy kicking him back into place more than any sane mentor should. Regulus refined his footwork so quickly that even Jeanyx had to raise an eyebrow once or twice, though he never said a word—it was the smirk that gave him away. Bellatrix trained like she had fire in her bones, screaming in sheer excitement whenever her momentum shattered a practice target. Remus favored quiet focus, staying late to repeat the same swing a hundred times until it felt right. Narcissa learned how to breathe, how to steady trembling fingers, how to cast spells without flinching. James discovered that dodging was a skill of its own, especially when his deer—far too intelligent for anyone's comfort—liked to ram him as "encouragement."
Nyx watched all of it from the battlements above, sometimes curling herself around the courtyard, sometimes nudging a stray child out of harm's way with her nose. When she huffed smoke, frost would ripple across the stones. When she purred, the air vibrated with approval.
Weeks passed. The children's stances sharpened. Their footwork steadied. Bruises formed patterns across their arms like growing constellations. Jeanyx rarely praised—but when he did, it landed like a sunrise. Sirius broke into a grin for hours. Regulus pretended he didn't care and absolutely did. Bellatrix practically exploded with joy. Narcissa would smile shyly at the ground, cheeks warm. Remus bowed awkwardly. James ran off to brag to his deer, who never looked impressed.
And so the months drifted forward.
By the second month, the children learned how to fight in pairs. Sirius and Remus made a surprisingly effective duo—one chaotic, the other calm, both moving with instinctive synergy they didn't notice at first. Bellatrix and James were a disaster, clashing personalities that turned into shouting matches more often than coordinated attacks. Jeanyx would sit on the fence, drinking tea, watching them argue and sometimes snickering under his breath. Narcissa and Regulus, on the other hand, worked like two halves of the same thought: his precise defense bolstered her fragile offense, her healing spells kept him from wearing down too quickly.
The children learned how to move around Nyx too—how to dodge her tail sweeps, recognize the warning rumble before she exhaled frost, and use her bulk as cover. Jeanyx used her as a training obstacle, then as terrain, then as a moving hazard. Nyx enjoyed this far more than she should have, to the point of deliberately chasing Sirius around just to watch him scream as he ran in circles.
Three months in, Jeanyx introduced night training.
Lanterns flickered around the yard, but shadows stretched long and unpredictable. Regulus thrived under it, gliding through darkness like he'd been born to it. Narcissa had trouble controlling her fear at first, but Jeanyx made her stand alone in the dark until she could cast a steady glow spell without her voice trembling. Bellatrix accidentally set half a training dummy on fire, then proudly roasted a marshmallow over it. Remus learned how to shape ember-light into small floating sparks that followed him like lazy fireflies. Sirius began incorporating wind into his jumps, soaring over obstacles with growing confidence. James tried to follow his example, failed miserably, and landed flat on his face so many times that even Nyx looked concerned.
As the fourth and fifth months bled together, Jeanyx expanded their training to the forests beyond the keep.
They learned how to run between trees without losing balance. How to fight on uneven terrain. How to cast spells while sprinting. Nyx would prowl alongside them, massive body weaving between trunks like a shadow larger than life. She knocked Sirius into bushes for fun. She nudged Regulus forward when he hesitated. She let Narcissa braid a single ridge of her neck scales, for reasons nobody understood. When Bellatrix tried to ride her without permission, Nyx simply tossed her into a patch of moss and snorted at her indignation.
Jeanyx never held their hands. He let them fall, let them make mistakes, let them stumble through failure until they learned how to stand again. Sometimes he stepped in with a word, sometimes with a blow that forced a lesson, sometimes with nothing more than a stare that told them to figure it out themselves.
Six months deep, the first real breakthrough occurred.
Sirius deflected one of Jeanyx's strikes—barely, clumsily, but for the first time ever. James learned how to channel animal magic enough to calm a wild boar trying to gore him. Narcissa healed a bone bruise on Bellatrix's arm, though she fainted immediately afterward. Remus produced a flame so controlled and clean that even Jeanyx stopped and stared at it in surprise. Bellatrix forged her first real blade—uneven, ugly, jagged, but undeniably sharp. Regulus invented a new method of reinforcing library shelves with shadow-infused runes that impressed Jeanyx enough to make him pinch the boy's cheek and threaten violence if he ever stopped being useful.
The children grew stronger, taller, steadier.
Their reflexes sharpened. Their instincts aligned. Their teamwork improved. They laughed more. Argued more. Challenged each other constantly. The courtyard echoed with the sound of youth turning into something far more dangerous.
By the eighth month, each of them could stand against Jeanyx for at least a few seconds before being promptly humbled.
Regulus even managed to disarm him once.
Sirius landed a solid hit against his ribs that made Jeanyx grunt—only for Jeanyx to immediately kick him into a snowbank. Bellatrix lasted the longest in pure aggression, nearly five minutes before Jeanyx flipped her over his shoulder. James discovered he could sense heartbeats from a short distance. Narcissa created a frost shield strong enough to block one of Jeanyx's telekinetic pushes, though it shattered afterward like delicate glass. Remus managed to merge ember and growth magic into a warm light that soothed the cuts on his hands.
And every night, the children returned to their rooms exhausted, bruised, and smiling.
By the tenth month, Jeanyx began sparring against all six at once.
The courtyard became a chaotic battlefield. Spells cracked through the air, sabers clashed, wind stirred leaves into whirlpools, frost coated stones, embers danced in streaks of orange, shadows coiled, and animal calls echoed through the keep. Jeanyx danced between them effortlessly, deflecting, dodging, redirecting, mocking them with every step.
"You're telegraphing your strikes, Sirius."
"Regulus, stop thinking. For once in your life."
"Bellatrix, slower—unless you're trying to stab Remus again."
"Narcissa, breathe."
"James, if that deer rams me one more time, I'm eating it."
"Remus… good. More of that."
And despite the exhaustion, despite the bruises, despite Jeanyx knocking them flat every time, the children grew into warriors before his eyes.
And so the months passed.
Wintertown watched six little legends in the making sprint across courtyards, climb rooftops, leap from stone to stone, chase each other through forests, wrestle in snowbanks, press flowers into each other's hair, paint Nyx's claws when she fell asleep, steal pie from Mira's kitchen, and collapse together on the floor after training sessions that would have broken grown men.
Jeanyx watched them too.
Sometimes with irritation.
Sometimes with fondness.
Sometimes with a quiet ache he never voiced.
Because month after month, bruise after bruise, laugh after laugh, he was raising more than apprentices.
He was raising the future he never got to have.
And he knew—deep in the Force, in the arcane, in the bone-deep instincts he trusted more than thought—that when the day came to leave this island behind, these children would be ready.
But for now, they trained.
They fought.
They grew.
And the island echoed with their footsteps as months melted into one another.
(timeskip to the 10 year anniversary )
Moonlight spilled across Nyx's scales like liquid silver as she glided over the black water, her wings slicing the night in long, steady strokes. Jeanyx lay stretched across her back with his hands folded beneath his head, the cold wind tugging at his hair while he stared up at the glowing full moon. The world was quiet. The ocean below them looked like polished obsidian. And Nyx's steady wingbeats created the kind of rhythm that made the mind wander to places it normally avoided.
Eventually, Jeanyx turned his head toward her neck, watching the curve of her jawline and the way her magenta-tinted eyes reflected the stars.
"Hey, Nyx," he said softly, voice barely louder than the wind. "Do you ever wonder what'll happen when we finally go home?"
Nyx didn't answer with words at first. She tilted one wing, letting the air slide beneath it, and angled her head slightly as if she were thinking. Then a low hiss rumbled out of her throat—sharp to anyone else, but clear as speech to him.
Homes change, Jea. But you… you don't. So I am not worried.
He blinked, stunned for a moment. Even after a decade, the ease of understanding her still amazed him. Their bond had grown deeper than anything he'd ever expected—stronger than blood, older than instinct. She spoke in a mix of raw Valyrian, ancient instincts, and something only a Force-born creature could create, and somehow he understood every nuance.
He looked back at the moon.
"You think so?" he murmured, fingers brushing the warm, smooth ridge of her neck. "I'm not sure. A lot's changed. My family's changed. And I… don't know what I'm supposed to feel about any of it."
Nyx snorted, sending a cool burst of air across him.
Your feelings are loud, she answered, her tone somewhere between teasing and comforting. You miss some. You hate others. You fear the rest. Very human of you.
Jeanyx opened his mouth to argue—then shut it when he realized she wasn't wrong.
His mind drifted to his children.
Ayra, with her uncanny perceptiveness and the first sparks of Force-sensitivity showing even at four.
Loki, already whispering to snakes and bending magic like it was clay in his small hands.
Thor, strong enough to lift a full barrel of grain without help, terrifying every adult who witnessed it.
Alysanne, who absorbed knowledge like a sponge and asked questions far beyond her age.
They were each becoming brilliant in ways that scared him a little.
Nyx sensed the shift in his thoughts and flicked her tail in amusement.
You are thinking of your hatchlings again.
"They're not hatchlings," Jeanyx protested.
Nyx rumbled. They are to me.
He chuckled, brushing a hand along her scales. "Fair."
As they drifted, Jeanyx found himself staring down at the coastline—dark against the silver moonlight, familiar in a way that tugged at his chest.
"You know… I wasn't lying," he said, voice quiet. "I do want to go home. I want my kids to see dragons, real dragons, not just the stories I told them."
Nyx hummed, wings gliding effortlessly. Tell me again of the three you liked.
He smiled, eyes softening with nostalgia.
"Dreamfyre first," he said. "She was the most gentle thing in the world. Warm scales like a hearth, and she'd bow to let me hug her neck. She gave me snout-kisses every time she saw me."
Nyx made a rumbling sound—half jealousy, half curiosity.
"And Silverwing…" Jeanyx continued. "Silverwing treated me like I belonged to her brood. She'd follow me around like a loyal hound whenever I visited the dragonpit."
Nyx's tail twitched. Will they sense me?
"Dragons always know their own," Jeanyx assured her. "Even if you look different. Even if you're colder than ice. They'll feel you the same way I do."
Nyx growled thoughtfully, then asked the question that had been lurking for years.
Do they know you live?
Jeanyx's smile faded, his throat tightening.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But… part of me hopes they do. Dragons aren't like humans. They remember things in ways we never understand. Maybe they sensed I didn't die. Maybe they kept waiting."
Nyx said nothing. She only softened her flight, wings folding slightly to glide lower—closer to the water, where the moon's reflection seemed to merge with the sea.
The silence held until Nyx suddenly stiffened beneath him.
Her head jerked left. She inhaled sharply. Her pupils narrowed to razor-thin slits.
Jeanyx immediately sat up.
"What is it, girl?" he murmured.
Nyx didn't answer with words this time. She banked hard, wings slicing a sharp arc through the night sky.
Below them, drifting like a scar against the shimmering black water, was a longboat—tattered, half-sinking, its sail torn to ribbons. No torchlight. No crew. Just the hollow, ghostlike remains of something battered far beyond repair.
Nyx angled downward.
Jeanyx felt her urgency before she even spoke.
Smell of fear. Old blood. New blood. Alive.
He gripped the saddle, eyes narrowing at the dark shape below.
"Then let's see what washed up on my shores," he said, voice shifting into something colder, sharper, older.
Nyx screeched once—high and commanding—before diving toward the longboat.
She dipped her claws beneath it, gripping the rotting wood with an effortless strength that sent water cascading down in sheets. The boat trembled under her hold, creaking like it might snap in half.
"Easy," Jeanyx murmured, steadying her through the bond.
Nyx carried the vessel through the air like a predator clutching prey and banked toward the familiar silhouette of the island.
The beach came into view—a pale crescent of moonlit sand—and Nyx landed with a heavy thud, lowering the shattered longboat gently onto the shore.
Jeanyx slid from her back, boots crunching into the sand as he approached the ruined vessel.
The smell hit him first—salt, rot, old blood, and the faintest trace of human breath.
Nyx lowered her head, eyes gleaming.
Survivors.
Jeanyx placed a hand on her snout, his expression shifting into something dangerous and unreadable.
"Let's see," he whispered, "who the sea decided to send me tonight."
And with moonlight on his shoulders and Nyx looming like a living shadow beside him, he stepped toward the longboat—completely unaware that the discovery waiting inside would change the next chapter of his life forever.
ChatGPT said:
Jeanyx stepped closer, the sand cold beneath his boots, Nyx's shadow stretching long beside him like a living omen. The longboat creaked as the tide licked at its ruined hull, the entire vessel smelling of salt-rot, blood, and near-death. A faint groan drifted out from beneath a makeshift tarp tied down with frayed ropes and a broken oar.
He frowned. The tarp was haphazard—someone had thrown it on in desperation, not skill. Whoever was beneath it wasn't hiding. They were clinging to life.
With one sharp tug, Jeanyx ripped the tarp free.
What he saw made him jerk back half a step.
Men. Ten of them. Maybe twelve. All skin and bone, lips cracked and bleeding, eyes sunken into hollow sockets. Their clothes were stiff with salt. Their hair matted. Their ribs visible even beneath thick pelts. Every breath sounded like it fought its way out of a failing chest. A few lay still, their bodies cold and stiff. The living ones were barely clinging on.
But it wasn't their condition that froze Jeanyx.
It was their clothing—heavy wool cloaks, leather straps, iron rings, tunics stitched in styles older than the Andals, older than Valyria, older than most written history. Clothing like the First Men. Clothing like northern tribes forgotten by the rest of the world.
Clothing like the stories Mira had once told him: of the clans that stayed on the island when their people migrated to Essos thousands of years ago.
Except these men weren't islanders.
He could tell instantly. Their faces were foreign to these shores. Their tattoos spiraled in patterns Jeanyx had never once seen among his villagers. Their boots were reinforced with fur from beasts not native to this land. Their belts bore symbols of wolves, ravens, serpents—symbols old as the world.
But what truly made his blood run cold were the two men lying closest to him.
The first one was broad-shouldered. Even half-dead, the strength in his frame was undeniable. Blond hair matted with seawater. A beard that would have been majestic if it wasn't tangled. A half-broken arm ring still clung to his wrist. His eyes, cracked open just slightly, were blue—icy, sharp, fiercely alive beneath the weakness.
The second was a little younger, darker, the shadow of something wild behind his features. Black hair streaked with dried salt. A scar down his cheek. He looked like someone who once laughed loudly, fought too hard, and lived too boldly.
Jeanyx's pulse stumbled in his chest.
"…Impossible," he muttered.
He crouched down, his breath fogging in the cold air as he looked closer.
The blond one groaned. His lips moved, barely a whisper.
"Þ…urst…"
Thirst…
The dark-haired one coughed violently, gripping his brother's shoulder with trembling fingers.
Jeanyx swallowed hard, staring between them—one blond, one dark, both unmistakably familiar.
From his past life.
From the stories.
From the sagas.
"Ragnar…" he whispered, eyes wide. "And Rollo."
Nyx let out a low, startled rumble behind him—not because she recognized them, but because he did, and she felt his shock through their bond.
Jeanyx's hands shook for a moment, a rare thing for him, before he pressed his palm against the blond man's forehead.
Ragnar's skin was burning with fever.
Rollo's heartbeat was faint.
Both were a breath away from death.
"What the hell are you two doing in my world?" Jeanyx murmured under his breath, voice tight with disbelief. "You should be legends, not shipwrecks…"
Ragnar's cracked lips parted again.
"Help… my brother…"
Jeanyx exhaled slowly and steadied himself. Whatever this mystery was—whatever fate had thrown onto his shores tonight—these men were alive, and that was enough for now.
He looked over his shoulder.
"Nyx."
Her head dipped.
We take them home?
"All of them," Jeanyx said. "Now."
Nyx crouched low, and Jeanyx lifted Ragnar first, who groaned but didn't resist. Then Rollo, heavier but still far too light for a man shaped like an ox. As Jeanyx moved deeper into the longboat, he began pulling out the others—every half-dead warrior, every unconscious survivor, every man who still clung to breath.
They needed water. Food. Healing. Warmth.
They needed him.
Jeanyx slung Ragnar over his shoulder and nodded once to Nyx.
"Take Rollo gently. Don't crush him."
Nyx chuffed like she was offended he even needed to say that, then delicately lifted the dark-haired man in her massive jaws—gently, like a mother cat carrying a kitten.
Jeanyx looked back at the broken longboat, the moonlight spilling through the splits in the hull.
This was no accident.
This was fate, ripping open a new chapter.
He felt it in his bones—the same way he sensed the Force, the arcane, the whisper of destiny pulling at the threads of his life.
"Ragnar Lothbrok…" he whispered, glancing at the man unconscious against his shoulder. "If you're truly who I think you are… then the gods just dropped a storm at my doorstep."
He tightened his grip and began the long walk toward the keep.
"And I don't know if I'm ready for it."
(A/N: now I know I'm adding a lot when most expect just stuff in the game of thrones universe but that's not fleshed out at all since we don't know a lot about many regions outside of westeros and even then a lot of history is little mentioned like my favirote race the first men (if you couldn't tell) so I'm going to add things I find relevant to mideavel times or things of that nature like the victorian era and another modified era but I swear besides the addion of vikings there is going to be two more addition and I swear that's it...at least for the house of the dragons series and one of the addition I feel would make things easier for me to explain away besides just "I can do it because I have magic")